One Sheep Two Sheep Red Sheep Blue Sheep
by Liete
Summary: -US UK- 'An excuse was an excuse, and as long as England was near, even if they were fighting, America was happy.'


**One Sheep Two Sheep Red Sheep Blue Sheep  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: ****This is a pinch hit for the livejournal community usxuk's 2011 Secret Santa Exchange. :)  
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><p>"You can't fall asleep before me."<p>

America pulled his t-shirt over his head and turned to give England a pointed look. England's gaze lingered on him for a moment, roving over his body before he slowly turned away.

"I don't recall ever agreeing to stay here."

"Yeah, well," America said, shimmying out of his jeans to kick them to the side. He reached for his favorite set of PJs and hurriedly pulled them on as he addressed England. "I don't remember inviting you over here in the first place, either!"

Although America couldn't see England's face, he knew that England was blushing from the way his ears deepened in color.

"It _was_ meant to be a strictly business visit. _You_ were the one who insisted on watching that horrible film."

"I didn't know there would be ghosts!" America pulled the hood of his pajamas over his head just as England scoffed. America frowned, crossing the room to grab England's arm. "You have to stay, England, or I'll never get to sleep. Please?"

England turned around with a deep scowl on his face that faded into shock. He looked America over from head to toe before he finally snorted. "America, aren't you a little old to be wearing pyjamas like that?"

They were footie pajamas—blue with a hood fashioned to look like he was an enormous teddy bear. Teddy himself probably would have laughed in his face, but America found them to be exceedingly comfortable.

"Who cares? They're comfy and perfect for nights like these when I have trouble sleeping!"

England was holding his hand over his mouth and shaking slightly, and America narrowed his eyes.

"Are you laughing at me? Not cool."

"No, of course not," England said, but his voice was strained. He wheezed for a moment longer, wiping at his eyes before he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "But I do not have time for your foolishness, America. My flight back to London leaves early in the morning."

America clutched at his arm again and put on the best and most pathetic pleading look he could muster. "Just stay until I fall asleep, and then you can do whatever you want! Please? _Please_, England?"

England glared in response, his eyes intense with his stubborn rigidity, prompting America to feel genuinely crestfallen. His shoulders slumped and he released England's arm. England, meanwhile, went stiff, his expression changing from surprise to suspicion to something vaguely like concern. America gave him one last sad, pointed look and England groaned.

"Oh, damn it all, fine. I'll stay until you fall asleep and not a moment longer."

America brightened instantly and threw his fist in the air with a whoop of excitement. "Awesome! Thanks, England."

England blushed and muttered something in response, but America wasn't really listening. He ran and threw himself onto his bed where he crawled under the blankets and sheets and beamed at England. England took a much more ginger approach and sat facing away from America on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, come on, England!" America said with a laugh and pulled England backwards onto the bed. England squawked and flailed until America released him. England sat up, sputtering all the while.

"Was that really necessary?"

"Course. You can't really help me fall asleep if you're way over there and not looking at me."

"Who said anything about helping you? I thought the agreement was that I'd stay here until you fell asleep?"

America ignored him and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and smiling at England. "Tell me a story!"

"I don't know any," England said, but America noted how England settled himself back against the pillow.

"Liar. You used to tell me stories all the time when I was a kid."

England huffed and shook his head. He adjusted himself on the bed, settling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "I seem to recall you finding my stories boring."

"Exactly! Perfect for helping me fall asleep!" America's grin widened. England scowled back at him.

In truth, of course, America was just fishing for excuses. He hadn't expected England to show up at his door unannounced—though England insisted that he had sent prior word—but he'd taken the opportunity to make England stay as long as possible. They'd bickered all evening, even when the same arguments about official policies gave way to a scary movie viewing. He'd seen that particular movie enough times that it no longer frightened him—not much, at least. An excuse was an excuse, and as long as England was near, even if they were fighting, America was happy.

England didn't respond and continued to scowl at him. America's smile faltered, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Or you could count sheep!"

England blinked. "Count sheep? You know that doing that doesn't really work?"

"Sure, it does! I do it all the time, really!"

"Then do it yourself," England said, turning his attention back up to the ceiling.

America puffed out his cheeks and sat up. Said in such a way, America couldn't help but think of it as a challenge.

"All right, then! Just lie back and let me show you how it's done!"

England rolled his eyes, but he let out a deep breath and visibly relaxed. America smiled and cleared his throat.

"One! Two! Three!" He shouted each number, and England nearly jumped out of the bed. He reached behind him to grab the pillow and hit America with it.

"That won't put anyone to sleep, you idiot!"

"Ow, fine! We'll do it your boring-ass way."

America waited until England settled himself again—no fear of pillow carnage that way—and then cleared his throat once more.

"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen." This time he counted in a much softer voice, and he gave England a pointed look out of the corner of his eye. England continued to stare at the ceiling, expression neutral. America turned his attention to the blanket in front of him as he fell into a rhythm.

Sometime around the fifties—or maybe it was sixties, America wasn't really focusing anymore—America's eyelids started to feel heavy and his head fuzzy. Just as he was about to lie down and settle himself for a good night's sleep, something warm brushed against his leg, making his eyes snap open.

He looked to the side to see England shifting away from the pillow to nuzzle up against him, snoring lightly. America's face instantly burned.

"England?"

England stirred for a moment, letting out a deep breath before he went still again. Only this time his mouth fell open and he began to drool on America's leg. America's eyes widened in horror.

"Dude, gross!"

He nearly threw England off, but stopped himself before he did. He was getting what he wanted … in a way. England was staying, England wasn't yelling at him or calling him an idiot, England was snuggling against his leg the way a lover might. Of course, in America's dreams he was always snuggling back, but beggars could not be choosers, after all.

England sighed and turned his head, obscuring his face against America's leg. America's expression softened, and he lifted a hand to stroke through England's hair.

"Hey, so…I know you're going to be pissed when you wake up that I let you fall asleep and you'll probably be late for your flight and stuff and have to stay here longer, but…"

America paused, remembering the bags he'd seen under England's eyes. He frowned.

"I think it would be better if you stayed. I know you think I'm an idiot and don't notice anything, but damn, sometimes I really want to forget that you hate me and I pretend to hate you so I can take you away somewhere for a long weekend. You need to relax more or you're going to explode."

He was talking to himself. America pulled his hand back and combed his fingers through his hair, pushing back the hood on his teddy bear pajamas. He looked down at England, regarding him for a moment before he gently eased England off his leg so he could lie next to him. When England didn't wake up, he relaxed and smiled.

"Also, I was totally right about the sheep thing. How do you like them apples?"

England's eyebrows furrowed and America chuckled quietly. Even though he knew he shouldn't, America gently wrapped an arm around England, pulling him closer. England squirmed, but nuzzled against him. It was the best he was ever going to get, America knew, but it would be worth the explosion in the morning.

"Night, England," he said, and in that position sleep came easily.


End file.
